


The Big Book of Love Potions

by DesdemonaSighs, GotMeInLove (DesdemonaSighs)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, M/M, dont talk to me this is crack i promise, terrible terrible crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaSighs/pseuds/DesdemonaSighs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaSighs/pseuds/GotMeInLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which: Merlin makes a love potion that accidentally ends up in everyone's drinks, Arthur is pining and obvious, Leon buys flowers, Lancelot defends some honor, Gwaine tries to grope Merlin's ass, Morgana laughs a lot, and Gwen is no help at all, really (but Gauis and his eyebrows are).</p><p>AKA, really cheap crack. Like, dark alley crack. Not even the kind rich people like.</p><p> </p><p>AKA, I swear this is a joke. (But at least Benedict Cumberbatch is in it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Book of Love Potions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start by apologizing for this entire story. Basically, this is what happens when I watch too many of Benedict's interviews, and I get to thinking that he would make a right good King.
> 
> And then I get to thinking that Merlin really needs to learn to get some.
> 
>  
> 
> And that leads me to thinking that, well, love potions are a thing, aren't they?
> 
>  
> 
> And somehow, it ended up being Merthur because, who am I kidding, everything is Merthur and nothing hurts.
> 
>  
> 
> But hey, Prince Benedict is (at least in my sleep deprived, crack-writing induced mind) dream cast as Benedict Cumberbatch. Ginger!Cumberbatch. So you can at least enjoy that.
> 
> This story has no real set timeline. I know it's a bit odd having Morgana around / having Arthur as the prince while Lancelot and Gwaine are well attuned knights, but it seemed like a good idea at 3 in the morning. So.

This was not, under any circumstances, Merlin's fault.

(It totally was.)

It had been one of those days, filled with feasts, drinking, and celebration as news came from over the hill of Arthur's engagement to some far off princess whose name Merlin couldn't pronounce (but it definitely had an F in it, so he gave himself points for effort). Arthur had spent the majority of the day sulking, and had shooed Merlin off after breakfast with a tactful "Your annoying puttering about will just make this day more of a hell! Out, out, out!", which, all things considered, was unneeded since it was an official Camelot holiday and Merlin technically had the day off anyways.

But, that was besides the point. Merlin had found himself back in Gauis's home, sweeping the floors and waving at Gwen as she passed by the window, bundles of flowers craddled in her arms. Preparations for that night's feast were already underway, and Merlin couldn't help the excited smile that found its way to his lips. Royal betrothals were of the few occasions commoners such as Merlin were allowed to dine like nobles. Merlin couldn't see why Arthur was so frustrated and angry all of a sudden; rumor had it that Arthur's fiance was one of the most beautiful in all the land, and kind to her people as well. Plus, everyone got to dine on fresh fruit and wine. What was the harm?

(And, okay, so maybe Merlin sort of had a crush on said soon-to-be-queen-of-Camelot's queer older brother who had been around for the feast's arrangements, but, again, that was besides the point.)

That was when, Merlin being the clumsy git that he had always been, knocked over one of Gauis's books of potions, a thick novel that had been tucked away for who knows how long (Gauis was a bit of a hoarder and always threw a fit when Merlin tried to throw things out), adorned with a massive pink heart on the cover and the words "Love Potions" painted on the front in an equally frilly and disgusting manner.

Well.

It just so happened that Merlin was a deep believer in something called "destiny", an ideal thrusted upon him by a giant dragon in a cave. So it must have been destiny when he had knocked over a book of magic, liquid love when thinking about aforementioned fit-royal-queer-older-brother. Destiny was trying to tell Merlin something. It was obvious.

Who was Merlin to fight with destiny?

And-

That is how all of this starts.

* * *

 

"My name is Benedict, Crown Prince of Bakers."

Merlin tried really hard not to swoon. He was utterly fit, with a shock of golden-red hair that was slicked back in perfect waves, eyes so pale and so bright they almost blinded Merlin (and this was the same Merlin whose smile was, and this was paraphrasing, able to "light up every dark corner of Camelot" or whatever complete bullshit Arthur had said that one time he was drunk and horny). 

"I'm- erm-," Merlin replied with such eloquence it put Morgana to shame, "Merlin. Yeah. That's my name. Merlin."

This was almost, if not equally, as flustering as the time he had thought Arthur wanted to hug him. He was still getting weird looks from the prat about it.

"Hello, Merlin of Camelot," the damn good looking fellow was actually leaning forward and gripping Merlin's hand in a strong handshake before bringing his palm to his lips and kissing it gently. Merlin was going to die of a heart attack. Or burst into flames. Or offer himself up as a virginal sacrifice for the sake of Camelot. Whatever came first.

Benedict dropped his hand with a small, bashful smile, and yes, it was very possible Merlin actually fell over from swooning.

At least someone caught him.

Sadly, though, the person who had caught him was not virginal sacrifice worthy Benedict, but the adverse to hugging prat Camelot called a prince, and so he was thusly dropped onto the filthy ground when Arthur figured out he was not in fact catching a fair maiden in a moment of distress, but his somewhat bony and definitely not-huggable servant.

"Oh my, are you alright?" an upside to falling on your bum in the middle of a courtyard with the Crown Prat of Camelot and his knights staring at you, is that the Crown Fit As Hell Prince of Bakers will promptly pick you up, cradle you in his arms, and grope your arse for a good five seconds.

Totally worth it, in Merlin's opinion.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Merlin replied in a manner not at all akin to a damsel in distress. Or a horny teenager with a massive arse groping caused boner. Merlin didn't make any move to pull away from the embrace, what with Benedict's hot breath tickling his lips and his large hands gripping Merlin's hips (and also the boner was a good reason not to move, but whatever). Benedict just smiled his shy smile once more, eyes sparkling with such unfiltered fondness Merlin was sure that if the prince spoke one more word in his deep, soul rattling voice, Merlin would be his forever, with no exceptions.

"Merlin, you oaf, get off of him."

Wrong prince.

Benedict loosened his grip around Merlin's waist, just enough for the younger man to wiggle an acceptable amount away. He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Arthur for a total of two seconds before taking in the odd look on his face. All the usual smugness was gone, instead replaced by a blank stare and a tense jaw. His hands were curled at his side, knuckles white, and the angry flush across his neck was the only sign that Arthur was even alive anymore.

Maybe he had the flu. That was no good. He was to meet his betrothed that night.

Regretfully, Merlin retracted his hands from where they had settled on Benedict's shoulders, only to reach out to cup his own prince's face. "Oi, you're a bit hot, sire," he pressed the back of his hand to Arthur's forehead, brow creasing at the sudden flush that appeared on Arthur's face, "Are you feeling alright? I wouldn't want you getting sick." Merlin worried his bottom lip between his teeth, continuing his persistent check of Arthur's temperature. 

"Merlin, I am sure Arthur is fine," came Benedict's voice from behind him, his tone dropping impossibly low, and he felt a set of rather large and seductive hands pull at the bottom of his tunic, "leave him to his knights. They know him better than you do."

"I'll have you know, Merlin is my servant and is in charge of catering to me," Arthur suddenly snapped. Merlin flailed, stumbling on his own feet in a very Merlin-esque way. Benedict caught him, groping his bum a little, before setting him straight again. "And it is utterly inappropriate for a prince to be acting in such a manner towards someone below him!"

Merlin felt his eyebrows knit together. He looked over Arthur's shoulder towards his knights, where Leon was looking like a lost puppy (but Leon always looked that way, so), and some of the older knights had taken to whistling and shuffling around a little. Oh, this was bad. 

"Your laws may be different here in Camelot, sire, but in Bakers, it is not at all looked down upon for one of royalty to be taken up with someone of lower birth," Benedict's arm was suddenly snaking around Merlin's waist, pulling him closer. Merlin yelped, falling into the older man's side with a soft thud. He was nearly tingling from the warmth and exhiliration that came with Benedict's words.

Arthur looked about ready to explode. "Merlin, come with me," and suddenly Merlin was the rope in a horrible tug-of-war between two princes.

It was sort of bloody fantastic.

(And not at all like that one wet dream he had after too many bottles of wine.)

There was a tinkling laugh, and then a loud clearing of throat, and Merlin was nearly flung back into Benedict's arms. Morgana, in all her dazzling glory, stood before the small gathering, arms crossed and pink lips turned up in an almost smile. Merlin was about to grovel at her feet in thanks, seeming as Morgana always showed up to save Merlin's (perky, but highly susceptible to unwanted touching) arse, and had presently saved him from a week's worth of sore arms (and probably a ripped tunic, but that was delving way too deep into that one wet dream that Merlin definitely didn't have).

"Arthur, dear, I hate to steal you from your fit of jealous rage in front of your knights and about half of the kingdom," Morgana curtsied sarcastically and Merlin thought he might be in love, "But Uther needs you. It seems Prince Benedict isn't the only Baker royal here. Your wife-" she made an oddly distasteful face at the word, pointedly directed towards Merlin, "- has arrived."

Arthur coughed, flush returning to his cheeks. Merlin bit back the urge to send him straight to Gauis for some rest (because standing between Morgana and Arthur when they were having one of their weird, passive agressive talks was not a good idea at all), and instead decided to clutch at the bag he had forgotten he was holding.

Oh yeah, the love potion. Oops.

Prince Benedict joined Morgana and Arthur's conversation, and Merlin took it as his cue to leave. As quickly as the air had tensed between Arthur, Benedict, and himself, with the slightest mention of politics, Merlin was forgotten.

It was a relief that he didn't know he had been asking for.

Merlin stole away, bag full of herbs to make his love potion (which he found, was not very necessary considering Benedict seemed to have formed an interest in him, but oh well, better safe than sorry), and thanked Destiny that he was not a royal, nor would ever be.

* * *

 

So, Merlin was only a tiny bit pissed drunk.

At least he could stand.

Sort of.

Well, being splayed out across Gwen's lap wasn't exactly standing, but still, it was the effort that counted.

He held out the bottle of love potion for Gwen to see, grinning madly (and a bit demented, but that was the alcohol, okay?). She took it from his hands, giving a respectful "ooh" and sniffing it. They were at the farthest end of the long table for commoners, and were passing around a wineskin. The table was bare except for a few stray grapes and a (questionable) article of clothing from one of the stable girls. 

"What are you going to do with it?" Gwen asked, considerably less inebriated than Merlin. She tipped the tiny bottle back and forth, staring at the contents curiously.

"I'm going to put it in Prince Benedict's drink," he giggled, gripping her arm, "And then he's going to fall in love with me, marry me, and take me far, far, far away from Camelot."

"Oh, really?" Gwen looked slightly shocked, and very much like she believed the plan would work, "Will you write to me?"

"No, you're coming with me, you silly wench," he squeezed her into a (suffocating) hug, before standing up and wobbling on a single leg, "Oi, oi, oi, I better go before I pass out." He managed to hobble half way up the street before realizing he was only using one leg. He hesitated, taking a few steps before deciding he wasn't too drunk that he would fall and hit his head and probably damage what brian he had left (Arthur tended to hit him a lot, but thankfully his skull was rather thick).

He rubbed the lid of the potion before picking up a bottle of wine and pouring the contents into it. The liquid simmered slightly, before settling. Merlin smiled, pressing his nose to the lip of the bottle and inhaling. It was the lesser of all the potions. It was simply a beauty potion, that would ensure whoever drank it would see the true and deep beauty of the creator. It would transform the lanky and awkward Merlin, in the eyes of Benedict at least, into what he truly was: a source of pure and unfathomable power, and the savior (mutiple times, thank you very much) of Camelot.

That is, if he could make it to the head table without accidently concussing himself.

He took off his neckerchief, wiping his forehead and trying to make himself look at least slightly presentable. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back and over his ears, which were tinged a rosy pink from all the wine. He slid off his thin coat, tossing it back at Gwen, and took a deep heave of breath. 

He only got about four paces towards the table before Arthur showed up.

(So, it is consequentally Arthur's fault this all happened. Definitely not Merlin's. Nope.)

"And where do you think you're going?" Arthur asked, looking not even close to drunk. His lips were red and swollen, presumably from all the kissing he was getting from his soon to be wife, and he looked tossled and sleepy.

(Merlin was not attracted to Arthur. In any way. Ever. Except for the occasional wank. And the fact he was sort of in love with him. But whatever. Besides the point.)

"I'm going to go pour some wine for Benedict, Sire," he put as much sarcasm as he could into the last word, which somehow made him topple forward and nearly concuss himself not on the hard, unforgiving pavement, but on Arthur's shoulder (which, for the record, was equally as hard and unforgiving as the pavement, but a hell of a lot warmer). 

"Give me this," Arthur snatched the wine from Merlin's hands, and the young sorcerer whined, deep in his throat. He gripped at Arthur's arms, tugging like an angry child, and Arthur froze, the hand that was not holding Merlin's wine for ransom hovering in the space between them. "Don't-" he choked out, pushing Merlin away from him and causing him to actually fall and hit his head on the ground, "Don't do that."

Merlin laid there, probably losing brian cells, and watched as Arthur poured a little of the wine into each person at the table's glass.

Lance. Leon. Morgana. Gwaine. And then the cup in front of Arthur's own chair.

Merlin groaned. Well, fuck.

The wine was gone before it even got close to Prince Benedict. 

Merlin hit his head a couple of times of the stone beneath him, just to see if he could put himself in a coma for, he didn't know, maybe forever.

* * *

 

He awoke the next morning to Gauis and the ever judging eyebrow.

"So, I am missing quite a bit of rose petals," he said after Merlin grumbled for nearly half an hour about how bright the bloody sun was, "And it seems a page was torn out of the love potions book I had hidden in the back of the shelf. Hm."

"Please don't talk, Gauis. I never want to leave this bed. Ever. I just want to lay here and eat and rot and never have to see anyone ever again. Except Gwen. Gwen can come in."

"Well, my boy, it seems you have no such luck," Gauis lifted Merlin's covers and kicked him out of the bed (seriously, Gauis needed to get his boots cleaned). "You have quite a few callers who are wanting to see you today."

"Oh, tell Arthur to bugger off. I have a hangover. I'll shine his armor later."

"I wasn't referring to Arthur, actually," he reached down and patted Merlin's head where he laid sprawled out on the ground, unwilling to get up, "Love potions are not to be trifled with, Merlin. Leon brought you flowers."

Merlin hit his head while convulsing. The hangover-black-out bliss had not lasted nearly long enough, and he recalled what had happened to his potion the night prior. He decided he would just curl up into a ball and starve himself to death. Yes, good idea.

(He blamed Arthur.)

"Flowers?" Merlin groaned, sitting up and cradling his head, "I am not a bloody barmaid. I don't want flowers from an admitedly goodlooking chap who, last time I remember, thought I was a stable boy."

"The flowers were rather nice, though," Gauis pointed towards a bundle of white lilies that sat on Merlin's bedside table, "He looked rather flustered when he came around. Said he didn't want to see you. Just to deliver them. Odd. Sounds a bit like someone under a love potion would say."

"Please leave, Gauis, before I gouge my eyes out."

"Get dressed, Merlin. You have work to do. And suitors to see."

"Seriously, this close to getting a spoon."

Gauis laugh could be heard all the way from the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

 

Looking back, Merlin decided it was unfair to completely blame the entire situation on Arthur.

An equal fault obviously fell upon Prince Benedict's (fairly impressive) shoulders. As it was, if he hadn't been so direly handsome, Merlin wouldn't have thought Destiny was calling to him when a stupid book fell off a shelf. Yes, this was definitely Prince Benedict's fault. And Arthur's. But not Merlin's. 

He had done a fair job of convincing himself of this fact by the time he ran into Gwen and Morgana.

"Oh, there's the man himself!" Gwen had crowed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "So tell me, how did it go last night? Did Prince Benedict shag you into oblivion? Or did you shag him? He looks like he'd fancy being a bottom."

Morgana gave out a startled laugh, which she quickly hid behind a pale hand. She looked nervously at Merlin, then to her feet, then back to Merlin, before turning completely around and looking at a set of earrings on the table behind her. Merlin quirked an eyebrow, mystified.

"Nothing happened, Gwen," Merlin sighed, running a hand through his hair and untying his neckerchief. He used it to wipe at his eyes dramatically before tossing it in Gwen's bag. It had a few holes in it and Gwen often patched it up for him when need be. She smiled softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Merlin," Gwen reassured, patting his head fondly, "I'm sure he'll come around. He looked rather besotted by you the last time I was in his presence. I think you have more than a likely chance of having all of your wild fantasies come true."

Morgana coughed loudly, turning in a whirlwind of black hair, pale skin, (and breasts) and anger. "I hardly think someone you barely know should be taking up so much of your time," she snapped, crossing her arms and looking directly at him. Her gaze was intense, but softened when she saw how (frightened) confused Merlin was. "I just... you should be with someone you know," she waved her arms vaguely, looking away, "someone who has your best interests in mind. Someone who has been here all along." She made a quiet noise that was a cross between a squeal and a groan, as if she had just realized what she had said and was deeply regretting it.

Fucking love potions. He was going to burn that book.

"Ooooookayyyy," Gwen looked back at Merlin, raising her eyebrows, "I think my lady is feeling a bit ill. I'll see you, alright Merlin? Don't get into any trouble." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, and he grinned, feeling for the first time that day that maybe things were going to be alright.

He was completely wrong.

After Morgana and Gwen had left (not without Morgana looking wistfully over her shoulder back at Merlin), he had sighed, setting a slow pace towards the castle. He didn't want to have to deal with Arthur today, especially if he was unsure if Arthur had taken a drink from the potion. It would be mayhem if he did, and Merlin's hangover was already too much for him to handle. 

And yet...

He imagined what it would be like, to have someone like Arthur love him in return. There had been times when he thought his prince harbored something more than friendship for his servant, but those instances were fleeting and not nearly enough to fuel any idea that they could be together. It was simply wishful thinking on Merlin's part, chasing after Arthur like all the other young girls of the kingdom did, and never developed into anything other than the friendship he held so dearly.

Maybe he would visit Prince Benedict today. Yes, he would do that.

" _Mer_ lin."

Well, (once again) fuck.

Merlin turned slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. Behind him was not only Arthur, but the entirety of the knights. Which happened to include Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon. 

"What do you want, Arthur? Please don't ask me to stand in as a dummy for your training. I still have bruises on my arse."

Arthur barked out a laugh, turning towards Lancelot, only to find that Lancelot was not laughing. He was, instead, staring very pointedly at Merlin's arse, like he was trying to see through his breeches and examine the bruises on Merlin's (very perky, but still often groped) arse.

The prince turned slowly, looking at Gwaine who was licking his lips at Merlin, then to Leon, who was looking at his shoes and tugging at the front of his chainmail. The air was tense as Lancelot made an effort to step in front of Gwaine, as if he could shield Merlin's virtue by standing between him and Gwaine's hungry eyes.

"What...?"

"Well, if you don't need anything from me, sire, I'll just be heading to your chambers," he pointed in the direction of the castle, expecting Arthur to bark out an angry reply.

Instead, the prince just smiled slyly, like he'd been given the best bait of all time, and cleared his throat. "Yes, Merlin. My chambers." He turned to his knights, and Merlin rolled his eyes, ready to walk away when Arthur said, "And Merlin, for the record, will be in no one else's chambers but mine. Is that clear?"

Merlin's jaw dropped. Well then. 

Lancelot's eye twitched, and Gwaine just let out a loud laugh before leaning forward to pat Arthur's shoulder. Leon continued to look at the ground, and Merlin decided that he was his favorite.

"You're a real prat, you know?" Merlin huffed, making sure to stay a safe distant from the prince in case he decided he did indeed need Merlin for dummy practice. "I should be very angry at you. I should be bloody insolent, honestly. You're lucky I didn't want to further embarrass myself in front of Prince Benedict last night or I would have... would have..."

"Would have what?" Arthur asked, just as Leon looked up and said, "Prince Benedict...?"

"Nevermind. I am not dealing with this today," Merlin began to turn on his heels, ready to find a dark corner and maybe a servant girl to help him forget everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. He stopped, turning around and letting out a sigh, "And, Leon? Thanks for the flowers. They were wonderful. Although, I prefer roses," he laughed jokingly, and Leon smiled so big he thought his face might split.

Merlin figured now would be a good time as ever to find Prince Benedict and finally get what he wanted (a simple kiss, and maybe a marriage proposal). As he walked away, he could feel the burn of Arthur's eyes on the back of his neck, and smiled quietly to himself.

* * *

It was (possibly) Merlin's fault that his entire room was covered in roses.

This was just starting to get stupid. He had thought that the potion was suppose to wear off after three days, and three days had passed of Merlin hiding from Morgana/Leon/Gwaine/Lance/Arthur interchangeably (although, Merlin always hid from Arthur, so there was no real difference there). Prince Benedict had long since left Camelot with his sister, promising Merlin that if the young warlock was still unattached by the time Arthur and his sister's wedding arrived, he would propose and they would be married themselves.

It didn't exactly help the Merlin-gets-married-to-the-hottest-prince-ever-(minus Arthur) cause that Gwaine was following him around, Lancelot seemed to think Merlin's honor was his and his only to defend, Leon would barely look in his direction, Morgana giggled whenever Merlin was within ten feet of her, and Arthur was being a regular prat.

At least that hadn't changed.

He still couldn't believe that Lancelot had gotten him roses. And not just one (one would have been flattering and sort of sweet, and maybe Merlin would have actually considered courting Lancelot if that was so), but an entire field worth. Because Lancelot was just that kind of guy.

"Love potions are sticky messes, Merlin!" came Gauis's call from downstairs. Merlin grunted, which translated to _please stop or I'll tear my hair out_  in Gauis speak.

There was the sound of the door opening downstairs, and Gauis's voice greeting a visitor. Merlin automatically ducked under his bed, praying it wasn't Gwaine. Even though they had become good friends, Gwaine under the influence of love was not one to be taken lightly. His attempts at seducing Merlin were oddly appealing, and there were the few times that Gwaine had groped his arse and he hadn't said a word about it. It was all getting very dangerous. 

The sound of heels coming up the stairs made Merlin crawl out from his hiding spot, and Morgana swung the door open with determination that instantly made Merlin smile. Of all of the lovesick children drooling at Merlin's feet, Morgana was the only one that had even the slightest of prospects of actually capturing Merlin's heart. Not that he wanted his heart to be captured. 

(He sort of wanted his heart to be captured.)

"Merlin!" she immediately giggled, causing Merlin to laugh in return.

"Hello, Lady Morgana. How may I help you today?" Morgana had also been the most civil of Merlin's courters. (Lancelot had nearly beaten one of the stable boys to a pulp when he had caught him staring at Merlin, and Merlin was glad that both Gwaine and Leon were very good fighters now that Lancelot's love-rage was set loose.) She was gracious and gave Merlin space, even if she giggled more than was probably healthy. 

"Um," she looked around, her eyes flashing with confusion as she saw all the roses. Merlin waved his hand in a manner that said _don't ask_ , and Morgana simply grinned. "Tonight, the court is going to be having a ball. Uh, it's sort of a goodbye ball for Arthur. We call it 'Arthur's last night', jokingly, of course."

Merlin nodded, standing up.

"Anyways, it's Arthur's last night to have... 'fun', I suppose, and um, I was wondering if you'd like to escort me," Morgana gulped, her eyes huge and frightened when Merlin just continued to grin at her.

"Yes, I'd love to," was his response, leaning forward and kissing her cheek in a way that was not at all appropriate of a manservant. Morgana didn't seem to mind.

"G-great! Um, I will send Arthur over with some clothes for you to get ready in," she bowed her head, her pale cheeks taking on an attractive red color, "And I will see you at the ball. Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin decided that maybe Prince Benedict wasn't worth the wait, especially when someone like Morgana seemed to quite like him.

For the first time ever, he thanked Destiny for the love potion.

* * *

"I can't believe _Morgana_ asked you to my bloody ball!"

Merlin walked alongside Arthur, tugging at the sleeve of the coat his prince had shoved him into. It had far too many buttons, and fit Merlin tightly in a way that he was not use to, but at least he looked presentable. His fingers flew to his neck, and he wished Gwen had gotten him his neckerchief back. Instead, the strings of a flowing cape hung down to his chest, and he idly fingered them.

When he looked over at Arthur, realizing he had stopped speaking, he found the other man staring silently at his neck. "What, do I have some grass on my collar?" Merlin asked, brushing off the (nonexistant) grass.

Arthur remained silent, reaching out and cupping the back of Merlin's neck.

Great, just when he thought Arthur was free of the potion.

"Tonight is my last night," he choked out, his voice sounding desperate, "Do you know what that means? Tonight is my last night to ever be with someone who isn't my betrothed. I don't even want to marry her. I don't even want her." The unspoken _I want you_ hung dangerously in the air.

"Then don't marry her, Arthur," Merlin replied nonchalantly, inching away from Arthur's urgent fingers. They had stopped in a dark shadow of one of the houses, Arthur's breathing coming in wild pants. He had to get away from this. No matter how many times he had imagined Arthur acting this way towards him, he realized he didn't want it this way. He didn't want Arthur to want him simply because he was under a potion's will. "We should get to the ball. Morgana is probably waiting for me."

"Screw Morgana."

And then Arthur's lips were on his, hot and wanting. It was a hungry excuse for a kiss, Arthur's hands grabbing at anything they could touch. Merlin was frozen, half of him begging for more, the other half pulling away.

The pulling away portion won, and he pushed Arthur off of him. "No, Arthur. This isn't you. This is the potion. I can't- I won't- I don't want it like this, not like this." And Merlin was suddenly running. Running towards the castle and the lights and the sound of chatter and the warm embrace of Morgana.

Maybe Lancelot could save Merlin's virtue tonight from Arthur. Destiny knew that he would need it.

* * *

Merlin twirled Morgana, feeling a sense of contentment deep in his stomach. He was glad he was with the lady, and had found she was funny, sweet, and a bit magical.

She was, of course, no match for Prince Benedict (or another prince who Merlin would not name), but she was lovely and intelligent, and she loved to dance.

It was also strangely entertaining to watch Leon, Gwaine, and Lancelot fall over themselves whenever Merlin walked by.

Arthur had taken to sulking in a corner, not meeting anyone's eyes, but almost never taking his off of Merlin and Morgana. It made something delicate, something hidden behind walls and walls of protection for so long, break within Merlin. He tried to hide the waves of affection directed towards his prince, instead taking deep pleasure in the way Morgana purred when he rubbed circles into the warmth of her hip.

"Please, please, everyone take a seat," Uther boomed from his place at the throne. Merlin followed Morgana towards their seats, glad to find Gauis was the person beside him at the table (he would have probably died if it was Gwaine).

"Merlin, my boy, so good to see you," Gauis's judgemental eyebrows seemed to be all over the place, and Merlin hid his blush behind his napkin. "I see you and Lady Morgana are very much hitting it off."

Merlin took to look at Morgana, who was deep in a giggle-fest with Gwen. (The fact that Gwen was actually congratulating Morgana on getting Merlin to go to the ball with her was actually saying quiet a lot.) He looked at Gauis suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. "What are you planning, Gauis?"

"Oh, nothing, young Merlin," Gauis hummed to himself, his eyebrows doing a little dance of satisfaction. "It just so happens that I have found an antedote to an age old love potion. I thought it would be rather fit to pour it into tonight's supply of wine. Just in case someone had slipped a few people said love potion."

Merlin grunted, which translated rougly to _I'm seriously considering killing you and you're lucky you're like my father otherwise I would_ in Gauis speak.

"To Arthur, and the future of Camelot!" Uther raised his glass to the crowd.

"To Arthur and the future of Camelot!" And with the first gulp of wine, Merlin's chances of getting laid for the night were completely shattered.

Leon blinked wildly after his sip, looking every bit like the lost puppy he was (but now, just a puppy that didn't look like he wanted to have crazy amounts of sex with Merlin). Gwaine yawned, asking for more wine, and giving Merlin a nod that did not convey "I want to grope your arse into the daylight" even a little. Lancelot fell off his chair when Gwen patted his shoulder. 

Although, Arthur looked just as hateful as he had before he had taken a drink of his wine, but he figured that was just the side effects of being a prat all the time.

Merlin felt a small amount of relief when Morgana got up slowly, mumbling "I'm going to go dance with Lancelot now," before disappearing into the crowd of moving people.

"I suppose I should thank you," Merlin grumbled towards Gauis, who simply laughed and continued to give him judgemental eyebrows, "It was rather trying to have to rebuff all of Lancelot's requests into my bed. He's very persistent."

"I think now would be a good time for you to take your leave. Unless, of course, you have any other potions you wish for me to undo before half of Camelot's youth kill each other in an attempt to invade your bedchambers?" Gauis asked, and Merlin just grunted some more ( _Thanks, Gauis_ ).

Merlin stood, heading through the crowd of people and out the door. He laughed into the night, feeling light and free. It was a complicated thing, love, and he wanted more than anything to feel the way all of those people had felt about him. There had been so much happiness in Morgana's eyes when they had danced, so much adoration in Gwaine's when Merlin ruffled his hair. Lancelot had seemed to glow when Merlin touched him, and Leon had a face splitting grin everytime they spoke. Even if the love that they had felt was the result of a potion, Merlin knew that they had felt lucky. They had been content.

He let out a sigh, ready to head home for a much needed night of sleep, when a pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him against the nearest wall.

Arthur's eyes stared into his, tears spilling over and hot breath escaping his lips. Arthur was _crying_. He looked wild, and he gripped Merlin harder as his manservant attempted to wiggle away.

"Arthur what are yo-"

"How could you go to my ball with Morgana?" Arthur yelled, hands retreating from Merlin's shoulders to slam at the wall next to Merlin's head. "This was suppose to be the night I got you."

Merlin began to let out a confused noise, only to be silenced by the crash of Arthur's lips on his own. This kiss was no less feverish, but instead of the desperation and hunger that had been there before, there was only quivering sadness, Arthur's entire body shaking against Merlin's. The sorcerer gasped as Arthur's tongue claimed his mouth, and he gripped at the back of Arthur's neck for support, not trusting his legs to hold him up.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped out as Arthur's lips found his neck, sucking bruising kisses into his flesh.

"Shut up, Merlin, just shut up," was Arthur's angry reply, his hands sliding down the wall and grabbing possesively at Merlin's hips. He pushed their foreheads together, mingling their breath and leaving just the smallest of spaces between their mouths. "Gods, you're beautiful. Fuck, I'm so in love with you."

A reply was just about to pass Merlin's lips when Arthur hitched his hips forward, grinding his erection into Merlin's. Merlin moaned, his eyes rolling back as Arthur grinded into him. 

"Yes, just like that, darling," Arthur mumured into the junction between Merlin's neck and shoulder. "Tell me how much you want this."

"Arthur, yes, yes, yes, Arthur, yes," Merlin babbled, and nearly passed out when Arthur dropped to his knees, pulling Merlin's cock out of his trousers. Without any preamble, he took his length in one suck, head bobbing as he released his own cock. Merlin's gargled, incoherent groans and the obscene noises of Arthur's sucking were the only noises that filled the air.

Merlin came without any warning, blinding pleasure making his knees turn to jellow. Arthur swallowed each spurt of Merlin's orgasm, continuing to work at his own erection until the prince came with a shudder and Merlin's name on his lips.

"What the hell was that?" Merlin panted, falling to his knees beside Arthur. There was no response as Arthur laid Merlin down, kissing every patch of exposed skin like he wanted to memorize him. Their breathing slowed and Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist.

"I will tell my father that I do not wish to marry the princess," the prince whispered into Merlin's ear, his tongue darting out to lick at the shell of his ear, "And that it is you who I shall marry in a months time."

"But..." Merlin couldn't think straight with Arthur's tongue dancing across his collarbone, and he let out a tiny moan, "The wine... you drank the wine... the antedote..."

"Merlin, what are you prattling on about?" Arthur asked into his skin, smiling as he sniffed (sniffed!) at Merlin's chest. "I haven't had wine in over three months. Remember? A prince must sacrifice one indulgence in his quest to become king. It was either that or sex, and after watching you lick butter off your fingers, there was no way I was giving up sex."

"So... at the feast," Merlin gulped, "You didn't have any wine?"

"What part of my last explanation did you not understand? You are getting less and less attractive with every word coming out of that gorgeous mouth of yours."

"You actually love me. And you actually wanted to suck my cock."

"Yes, Merlin. That's probably why I became insanely jealous, confessed my love to you, got on my knees, sucked your cock, and then asked you to marry me." He could almost hear the eyeroll in Arthur's voice.

"Yes."

"What? What are you going on about now?" Arthur hadn't stopped licking at Merlin's skin, and Merlin yanked at his hair, pulling his face up to his own.

"Yes, I'll marry you, you utter prat."

"Oh," Arthur was blushing, and he kissed Merlin's lips almost shyly, "Well, good. Now I won't have to ever see that stinking Prince Benedict's face again."

Merlin just wrapped his arms around his prince and grinned.

* * *

A month, three days, and a royal wedding later, Arthur and Merlin will settle into bed together. They'll discuss their plans for their honeymoon for a short while, until Merlin yawns and slides under the sheets. Arthur will pull him close, rest his chin on Merlin's head, and count his breaths until they become deep and Arthur is sure Merlin is asleep.

Later, Merlin will groggily open his eyes and see Arthur staring down at him, eyes full of wonder and pure happiness.

And, that look in Arthur's eyes, Merlin takes full responsibility for.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, love potions are the date-rape drugs of Camelot's time. Oh well.
> 
> I don't know how this story even happened. I am so sorry.


End file.
